Perdóname
by Evie Warner
Summary: Hana knows that Sombra is watching.


**Author's Note:** *drowns in feels*

* * *

 **Perdóname**

-0-

It's ultra-late, and Hana's throbbing feet barely manage to drag her to her bunk.

She's dead where she stands. Honestly, if she'd known how strenuous Overwatch's trainee regime is, she might've had second thoughts about signing up. Lena had—repeatedly—reassured her that she'd get used to it, and that before she knew it'd take a dozen laps around the track before Hana broke a sweat.

Easy for the girl with a chronal accelerator to say. Hana has serious doubts she'll live to see daybreak.

She dumps her bag and jacket in the general direction of the closet, and trudges toward her bunk. Her bed, thanks to lack of time to settle in, consists of the barest minimum, but the pillow is soft and the sheets are thermal, and Hana can think of nothing more appealing than collapsing into them.

With her last scrap of energy, she flicks her shoes across the room— _I'll sort them out tomorrow_ —and flops onto her mattress, unleashing a shameless groan of relief as she nuzzles her face into the pillow.

Just as Hana curls up into the blankets, wrapped up like a toasty cinnamon bun, she jolts at the buzz of her phone vibrating from her back pocket.

Oh so briefly, she's tempted to ignore it because it's way too much effort to consider moving now that she's horizontal. Except it's likely important—she left Torbjörn and her MEKA alone in the hanger, and Hana shudders at the idea of how badly he's mutilated it.

She yanks back her blanket—though not before summoning up the loudest, most obnoxious groan she'd ever thought possible, half-praying it echoes throughout the facility so that everyone may know the depths of her frustration—and clumsily fishes her phone out of her pocket.

Annoyed by the disturbance, blinded by the too-bright screen, then once her eyes adjust, she's intrigued to find the message is anonymous.

Why?

Because it's impossible. All of her electronics have been connected to Anthena's unique matrix, making them inaccessible to anyone outside of the base.

More importantly, it reads: _Perdóname._

...

 _Liar_ , she types back.

The reply is instant: _Come on, conejita_ _. It was just a little fun._

Fun. Ha.

Hana furiously types: _You're giving me blue balls_ , with just enough force not to break the screen before reacquainting herself with her pillow.

Tactless Sombra may be, she has a knack for catching the emotion behind written words. Or hijacks the camera. Either way, how far she decides to push her luck varies from day-to-day.

Tonight, however, is not in Hana's favour.

Her coveted serenity lasts a grand total of two minutes before her phone buzzes again. Slapping a hand to her twitching eyebrow, she snatches back her phone with the other. If certain people wouldn't take a damn hint, then she'd just have to—

It's Dr. Ziegler: _Remember to shower before you sleep. I want you to stay in good health._

... to which, Hana is all-too aware of how sticky she is beneath her body suit. Ugh.

-0-

One hot, insanely satisfying shower later, Hana trudges out the bathroom in an oversized _Synaesthesia_ shirt, prepared to sleep as a singleton.  
But one look at the room, and that plan goes out the window.

Her laptop is on, the screen casting the room in a dim glow. Purple: their colour, _her_ colour.

 **I've been thinking about you.**

It's times like this that Hana contemplates informing Winston of Athena's security breach. Ha, if only they knew. Would anyone vouch for her side of the story if they ever caught wind of one of Talon's top agents' frequent trips to an Overwatch base?

That said ...

Hana reads the words, over and over. Like it or not, she'll lose. Sombra always get what she wants, and what she wants is Hana's attention—be it a written acknowledgement, or sneaking directly into Hana's bunk for the umpteenth time.

She takes a seat and types: _I need details._

Why?

Because she'll forgive her. She always does.

 **Kissing you, what else? Wondering what would've happened had your biggest fan not interrupted us.**

Hana likes Reinhardt; it's impossible not to. But the big guy's habit of walking in without knocking bumped him down a few spots on her list of favourite co-workers. One minute she'd been engaged in a passionate make-out session, her hands full of Sombra's hair, and the next she'd been groping at thin air.

Top of her To-Do List: _dismantle the translocator._

Hana rolls her eyes. As if it weren't hard enough to score ten minutes alone with Sombra without her actively sabotaging their rare meet-ups.

 _What did you WANT to happen?_

 **I intended to touch you, mi amor. A lot more than I got to.**

Hana snorts. The irony is painful, sometimes—Sombra is dangerously efficient at dirty talk, but her sexting skills are hit-or-miss.

...

Eh, she's overdue one good deed for today; no harm in prodding Sombra in the right direction.

 _Is that the best you can do? I wanna know WHERE you want to touch me._

Once the message is sent, Hana eases herself back, idly tracing her fingers over her stomach.

The speech bubbles at the bottom of the screen take their time. Too long for comfort, long enough for something unwelcome to bubble in Hana's stomach.

Does she really want to do this?

On one hand ... yes. Yes, she does. But on the other, there's only so many times you can use it to come to memories of your nemesis-slash-fuck-buddy before it hits you how weird it is.

And Hana surpassed that milestone a month ago. If only because she can't force her brain to conjure up a fantasy of anyone else, meaning she's a tad pent up in the orgasm department.

When her eyes flick up, her heart beats faster. She stares at the webcam—or rather, the light beside it.

She knows Sombra is watching. Knows that Sombra knows she knows. That Sombra _wants_ her to know that she knows.

That tiny speck is like a spotlight, and damn if Hana doesn't love attention.

 **I think I'd start with your neck. Just a few kisses. You always make such sweet sounds.**

 _What about your hands?_

 **On your hips. Something simple, but nowhere you need me.**

 **Not yet.**

Part of Hana—the bit controlled by hormones—wants to congratulate Sombra, because that's not bad. For her.

But then she closes her eyes and mulls over the times that Sombra was a fucking tease, all for shits and giggles.

She may be a bundle of hormones, needing embarrassingly little stimulation to get off, but Sombra—damn her—quickly learnt precisely how to coax Hana to the edge, then just ... leave her hanging.

This relationship is torture, the way Hana all too many times finds herself a flushed, panting, _pleading_ mess, and it's aggravating how Sombra has the technique down to a fine art. Half the time, Hana wants to slap that smug grin off her face, whereas the other, more victorious part gives Sombra the wanton display she wants until she finally relents, Hana coming so hard she can barely remember her own name.

Trailing her hands further upward, she briefly skims the pads of her fingers over her breasts. She tugs her shirt up with it, purposely making a show of avoiding her nipples. That said, it's still plenty to make them tighten and ache.

More than enough to make Hana regret her decision.

She bites her lip and thinks of Sombra on the other end of the camera—that, and a hefty chunk of willpower keeps her from giving in and brushing her thumbs over the tips.

"Mmm ... "

She'll bet that Sombra hacked the mic, too. But screw it if Hana is going to give all and take nothing in return. Instead, her fingers dart across the keys.

 _Feels good. I want more._

Then she adds: _And don't tease_ , as if there's a chance Sombra will obey.

She unfolds her legs once the message is sent, propping her heels against the desk to push her chair back until the webcam has her legs fully in view.

The dots return, but they mean nothing. She knows that Sombra is watching, waiting to see if Hana will dare disobey their unspoken rules to take matters into her own hands ...

Hana smirks.

Sombra'll punish her later—as if she ever needed an excuse in the past—but she gives in and allows her fingers to close over both nipples, squeezing with _just_ the right amount of pressure to loosen a quiet groan from her throat.

She tries not to squirm at the wet warmth pulsing between her legs. Whether or not Sombra intends to drag this out, Hana's thin patience is nearing it's limit.

 **Tut, tut ... you really are impatient, aren't you?**

If Hana were a more mature person, she wouldn't have poked her tongue out, teasing.

 **Tell me what you want: my mouth on your tits, or my fingers inside you?**

This is a bad idea. It's late. She's running laps in the morning, and her unwilling health-kick forbids caffeine and energy drinks.

... but that's a predicament she'll deal with in the morning, because right now, she's got vastly more important and _interesting_ things to deal with.

Like how she feels herself clench at the memory of how amazing Sombra's fingers felt. She hastily taps out a reply—

 _both. always. r u touching urself?_

—before scratching her manicured nails lightly down her body. The shudder and jerk of her hips as she reaches the band of her panties is completely out of her control.

 **You're not the only one who gets to get off.**

In the back of her mind, Hana's aware she's digging herself deeper into a problem that's already burrowed her out the other side of the earth, but this is Sombra and when it comes to her, Hana doubts her ability to stop.

When Sombra messages back: **Two fingers, thrusting inside you. Slowly. I'll make you moan my name** , it's the push Hana needs to slide her own fingers inside, imagining they're Sombra's.

As usual.

But this time, she thinks of Sombra doing this to herself.

She knows just how the hacker looks when she's got two fingers buried deep. Knows the feint blush peeking beneath her dark skin, the way her smug composure wavers; soft, gasping breaths; eyes becoming lidded.

 _Fuck._

Against her better judgement, instead of replying to Sombra's message, she hits call and turns the volume up just so.

"Hey," Sombra says.

It takes Hana a handful of seconds to make her voice work, because _holy fuck_ , Sombra's voice ... just that one word is low and gravelly, and it's blindingly clear she wasn't lying about touching herself.

"Tell me what you're doing," Hana pleads. "I don't think I can—not on the phone. But ... oh god, just—"

"I'm fucking myself. Two fingers, like I said."

The quiet moan she lets out sets off a shudder through Hana's body; she arches up into her hand, gasping when her palm brushes against her clit.

"Do you have any idea what I'd make you do if I were there?"

"F-fuck, Sombra ... Tell me— _tell me._ "

A chuckle. "Do you want my mouth? You liked that. You fucking _loved_ it when I went down on you."

Hana whines at the memory, and slips her slick fingers out to press against her clit, because the occasional touch of her palm is nowhere _near_ enough.

"You tasted _amazing_. Do you know how hard it was for me to stop? Even after you came, I wanted to make you come again and again."

" _God_. Your _mouth_ , I—"

"Are you thinking about it? Picturing me lying between your legs, my tongue licking at you just the way you need. Until you can't do anything but lie back, close your eyes, and take it.

"I'd make you beg me for more."

The quiver in Sombra's words, the groan at her own words, has Hana bucking up into her hand. She squeezes her eyes shut, remembering the rare sensation of Sombra tense and trembling. She'd knotted her fingers through purple hair, trying to guide Sombra's mouth into giving her more.

"Tell me, Hana ... do you want my fingers, too?" A chuckle. "Of course you do. You know you can have them—all you need to do is ask me nicely."

What Hana wants is to tell Sombra to shut up and get on with it, but her attempt to say it results in a strangled whine.

"Aw, what's wrong, conejita? You didn't have a problem with begging me last time. I think you liked it more than I did."

"I wasn't the only one begging by the end of the night."

Sombra's response is a low growl and Hana swallows hard, the memory fresh in her mind of Sombra holding her down, drawing out her orgasm until Hana felt herself blink in-and-out of consciousness.

"I-I'm— _fuck_ ... are you close?"

"Yes, I— _oh, dios mio_ ... "

Smug just five seconds ago, Sombra trails off into her native tongue. One day, Hana will take classes and be able to decipher her incoherant words, but for now, who in the ever-loving fuck decided that French took the top spot of sexiest accents?

"I want to hear you come, Hana. Fuck, just— _make yourself come for me_."

Hana writhes in her chair.

 _Widowmaker, eat your heart out_.

It takes every scrap of her non-existent self-control, but Hana slows her ministrations. For a moment, it's just the sound of their heavy breathing, interspersed by Sombra's high-pitched whimpers that Hana has begun to identify as the sign that she's teetering on the edge.

Hana closes her eyes, drinking in the sound of Sombra touching herself—the sensual, wet sounds that barely filter through the phone—and, _Christ alive_ , the mere thought of what she's doing is more than enough to make Hana's hips jerk upwards almost violently.

"H- _Hana!_ "

Sombra trails off with a sharp cry as she comes.

And the sound of it—of the untouchable hacker crying her name with shuddering passion—is what drives Hana over the edge.

With quivering fingers, she presses down forcefully on her clit, stroking almost frantically, and when Sombra gasps her name again, it's GAME OVER.

It's silence for a minute.

Warmth and her prior fatigue sinks pleasantly into her muscles as Hana slumps further into her chair, letting out a satisfied sigh as her hands flop to her sides.

She loves these moments every bit as much as she despises them, because the hazy bliss makes it difficult to hold on to petty grudges, especially when Sombra cancels out Hana's protests with well-timed kisses.

This time, however, Sombra is _not_ here, and it's always easier to vent over the internet.

"I'm still mad at you."

"I know," Sombra says. To her credit, she sounds sincere.

"You hacked the cameras; you knew he'd come in. He almost _saw_ —"

"He wouldn't have. You don't think I'd ever let anyone see you the way I get to?"

Hana sighs.

Sombra's voice is—for once—serious: "I mean it," before dipping back into husky demure. "Next time, I'll make it up to you."

"Mm, whatever you say," Hana huffs, but she can't hold back a smile.

She wants to stay awake and suck up these rare moments where Sombra sticks around to soak up the post-sex haze with Hana, even if they're physically separated by computer screens. But the drowsy, post-orgasm feeling is overwhelming her, coupled with the comeback of her agility training exhaustion, and threatens to have her konk out across the desk.

Thankfully, Sombra catches on and lets her off the call with a quick goodbye, and the screen goes dark.

Hana gets up from the desk, not bothering to see if Sombra kept the webcam on, and re-burritos herself in blankets.

She's asleep in no time at all, feeling fully relaxed for the first time in weeks.

-0-

* * *

 **Author's Note:** ^.^


End file.
